


"What Are We?" (or: The Challenge of Labeling an Ineffable Relationship)

by AnonymousDandelion



Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (though sometimes very necessary and useful), Ambiguous Relationships, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Banter, Communication, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dialogue Heavy, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Introspection, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Canon, Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), and sometimes unnecessary, except not really husbands, humans and our labeling, relationship terminology, words are complicated and confusing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/AnonymousDandelion
Summary: Aziraphale sighed. “But then we’re back where we started. Not really husbands, more specific than partners, moretogetherthan friends, different connotations than lovers…  so then, what’s left? What are we?”Crowley wracked his brain for other terms.~ ~ ~Prompted by a waitress's misassumption, Aziraphale and Crowley try to figure out what to call their relationship. Problem is, none of the human labels seem to quite fit.Or maybe that's not a problem at all...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 168
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	"What Are We?" (or: The Challenge of Labeling an Ineffable Relationship)

**Author's Note:**

> Because I felt like writing something intimate and introspective, and because one of the many things I love about Aziraphale and Crowley's dynamic is its very ambiguity, and the fact that it can be interpreted in so many different ways and yet also seems to somewhat defy definition.
> 
> Fair warning: Softness ahead, enough that my beta sentenced me to jail for it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this!

The exchange that set them to thinking took place at a restaurant — one of those fascinating little ones Aziraphale loved so much, where even a relatively new addition to the waitstaff recognized them by name and all but knew their culinary preferences by heart. The waitress smiled, glancing up from her notepad. “And you’d like that with shallots, Mr. Aziraphale?”

“Yes, of course, thank you.” Aziraphale beamed.

The waitress made another note. “And your husband?”

The pause stretched for a beat too long, Crowley and Aziraphale staring, first at the waitress and then at each other. Finally Aziraphale stammered out, “Oh, we— we’re not—”

The waitress’s expression went through a quick cycle of emotions, beginning with puzzlement, then surprise, then chagrin. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed— er, your partner?— that is, your friend? Er…”

She floundered for several moments, while Aziraphale continued to be too flustered to smooth things over, and Crowley pretended not to be equally flustered. Finally, the latter pulled himself together enough to put the waitress out of her misery[1] by placing his order. “Deviled eggs. With extra pepper. And shallots.”

~ ~ ~

The rest of lunch proceeded without event. They ate. They talked. If some of the banter was slightly less lively than usual, neither angel nor demon opted to bring up the thing that was the reason for their relative subduedness.

It wasn’t until they’d finished the meal, left the restaurant (and a generous tip[2]), and were in the Bentley, that Aziraphale stopped chewing on his lip to glance sideways at Crowley and ask, “ _Are_ we husbands?”

The fact that Crowley was neither startled nor confused by this query said something about where his own thoughts had been. He gave the question due consideration, cut off an infuriated Uber driver, then replied, “Nah, don’t think. Wouldn’t we know?”

Aziraphale sent an apologetic blessing to the Uber driver, who would arrive home that night to discover that he’d received the job offer of his dreams. “I should certainly _expect_ that we would know. There are rituals for such things, aren’t there? Weddings and whatnot?”

“More your arena than mine,” Crowley pointed out. “But yeah, rituals and things, humans keep making up new ones. Did you know most of them are choosing their own spouses these days?” He swerved around a pothole in the road, causing far more of a jolt than the pothole itself could possibly have done. “We’re not husbands, angel.” He made an illegal turn. “Do you… want to be?”

“Not particularly. Unless you do?”

“Nah, not really. Don’t see much point.” 

After a minute or so more of mildly life-threatening driving, Aziraphale said, “Why do you think she thought that we were? I’ve heard other people call us the same thing, too. Husbands, that is. At the park and such.”

The Bentley skidded around another corner, then Crowley asked, “Do you mind it?”

“Hm. No. Unless you do.”

“I don’t.”

“But why do they think it?”

“Who knows? Someone once thought I ran a bookshop. And everyone thinks you’re English. People think all sorts of things. Does it matter?”

“I daresay it doesn’t.”

“There you go.”

~ ~ ~

Neither of them spoke again until after they’d arrived back at the bookshop. Aziraphale busied himself with reshelving books, and Crowley busied himself with reclining against the wall watching Aziraphale reshelving books.

The angel was reaching upwards from atop a stool when Crowley said abruptly, “What are we?”

Aziraphale’s arms windmilled wildly, nearly dropping a book. He made a just-short-of-miraculous save, regained his balance on the stool, then carefully descended to ground level, trying to glower at the demon. As usually happened, he failed, softening almost immediately.

“What did you say, dear?” His tone made it clear that he’d heard _exactly_ what Crowley had said, and that, despite the relatively peculiar question, he also knew exactly what the demon was talking about — but also that Aziraphale wasn’t ready or wasn’t certain how to respond, so was putting off doing so.

"What _are_ we?” Crowley repeated. “Our relationship. Not husbands. But… we’re something, right?”

“Of course we are,” Aziraphale concurred. “Something.”

“Yes, but _what_?” Crowley persisted. “There was that other word she used, the waitress…”

“Partner?”

“Yes, that.”

“Do you think we’re partners, Crowley?”

Crowley leaned back, examining a crack in the ceiling. “Seems like it. We partnered up for godfathering, and Armageddon, and—”

“Don’t forget euchre,” Aziraphale put in. “And the gavotte.”

Crowley grimaced. “Been trying to forget the gavotte for over a century, haven’t managed it yet. Anyway. Not my point. Even the Arrangement, wasn’t that a kind of partnership too?”

“So it was. Not officially. But yes.”

“ _So_ ,” Crowley concluded, sounding pleased, “that means we’re partners.”

“I quite agree.” Aziraphale’s forehead wrinkled. “Only, ‘partners’ is a somewhat… broad term, don’t you think? That is, it could mean business partners. Or golf partners. Or, er… or anything, really. Sexual partners, even.”

Crowley’s eyebrows drew together. “I see what you mean.” Just for the sake of seeing Aziraphale’s reaction, he suggested, “Partners in crime.”

The angel gasped and drew himself up indignantly, which would have been a more intimidating sight if he had not also looked incredibly fond and as if he were trying not to laugh. “Only one of us is a criminal, fiend, and it is most assuredly not me.”

“What do you call stopping Armageddon?”

“The morally correct course of action,” Aziraphale retorted primly.

Crowley huffed. “All right, then, fine. How about sparring partners?”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “I no longer have my flaming sword, you may recall. But we could try, if you’d like — I’m sure we could miracle up some foils easily enough. I didn’t know you were interested in swordplay, though, dear.”

“Wha— that’s not what the term means!” Crowley groaned. “Well, I mean, it is what it means, but ’s not what I… oh, never mind. Was a joke, anyhow. Though accurate.” He mused for a bit longer. “Life partners, then?”

“ _Crowley!_ ” Aziraphale’s gasp this time was both genuinely shocked and horrified. “That makes it sound as if we’d stop being partners if we die! Or even get discorporated.”

“I don’t think that’s what humans mean when they use the phrase,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale was unconvinced. “You may use whatever words you wish, but _I_ will not refer to our relationship by such a limiting term. I have no intention of ever ceasing to be — partners — no matter _what_ happens, life or no.” A sudden trace of hesitancy entering his demeanor, he went on, “As long as you want, of course.”

At that, Crowley had to leave the wall to take Aziraphale’s hand. “In that case, I guess you’re just stuck with me forever, angel,” he drawled. The angel in question went a pleased and pleasing shade of pink, and Crowley added, “I won’t call us life partners if it bothers you. Not much point to using the words, is there, if we don’t both like them?”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand in response. “True. Not much point.” The angel returned his attention to the work at hand. “Could you help me find a good place to put this book? A customer was interested in it the other day, and I explained that the cash register was broken, but I’m afraid she may be back sometime soon — she seemed the persistent sort — and I can’t have her finding this one again, or I might be forced to sell it.”

“What about labeling it ‘Reserved for VIP’? That way you can leave it in plain sight as long as you want and no one can take it.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “That is an _excellent_ idea! Thank you.”

“You are, after all, a very important person,” Crowley commented, smirk just strong enough to be teasing, yet just mild enough that, beneath the teasing, there could be no real doubt of his sincerity. “No matter what we call us.”

Aziraphale turned pinker. “Thank you, my dear. So are you.”

~ ~ ~

They dropped the discussion of relationship terminology and didn’t return to it until later that evening, when they were seated together on the sofa in the back room. Aziraphale was the one who brought it up this time. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Best friends,” Crowley confirmed, looking as happy as he always did when describing them as such, albeit a little less conclusively satisfied than usual.

“But,” said Aziraphale, “I think most friends aren’t _quite_ so…” he trailed off, not sure of the word he was looking for. “Close? Committed? No, that’s not quite…”

“You mean, most friends don’t spend almost every day and most nights together?” Crowley supplied.

“Yes, exactly. Most friends aren’t quite so _together_.”

“You have a point,” Crowley acknowledged. “So we’re friends, but not… not _just_ friends. Something else. What else?”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Lover, perhaps? I do love you very much.”

Crowley choked briefly. “Angel, I love you very much too, but, ngh. That word has other connotations.”

“Connotations? What sort of connotations do you mean?”

“Are you honestly making me explain this?” Crowley put his head in his hands, then sat back up again to say, “Connotations like, like— like marital relations. Or rather, _extra_ marital relations. Lying together. Fornication. Screwing. Human physical stuff.”

Aziraphale’s frown was equal parts embarrassment, bewilderment, and exasperation. “But that’s ridiculous. The grammar of the word is quite straightforward. Love-er: One who loves. It’s simply an agent noun. Nothing at all to do with sex.”

“I don’t make the rules,” Crowley grumbled. “Just telling you how people use the word, don’t blame it on me.”

“If you insist.” Aziraphale sighed. “But then we’re back where we started. Not really husbands, more specific than partners, more _together_ than friends, different connotations than lovers… so then, what’s left? What are we?”

Crowley wracked his brain for other terms with which he’d heard humans refer to their— “Significant others?”

“Hm.” Aziraphale considered. “You are indubitably significant to me, but doesn’t that wording seem… somewhat evasive? And it’s like ‘partners’, very vague. ‘Significant’ can mean so many different things, and ‘other’ can mean, well, practically anything.”

“You’re being pedantic,” Crowley accused.

“Of course I am,” Aziraphale agreed.

“Yeah, of course you are. Bastard.” Crowley rubbed at his eyes. “This whole conversation is pedantic. We’re not getting anywhere here, are we? We’ve ruled out the other words, what does that leave for us to be? Hereditary enemies? Fraternizers?”

Feeling Aziraphale tense just slightly beside him, Crowley nudged the angel. “Easy there, I’m just kidding, you know I am.”

Aziraphale relaxed. “I know.” He sighed.

They were quiet for some time.

“Crowley?”

“Eh?”

“Are you… happy?”

Crowley appeared taken aback by the question, but he answered instantly. “Duh. Off of the Hellish rosters, alive, Earth still exists, Bentley, good wine, what’s not to be happy about?”

“With our relationship, I mean.”

“Of course. Happier than I’ve ever been, probably. Definitely. Why?” Crowley paused, suddenly concerned. “Are _you_ happy?”

“Oh, yes, yes!” Aziraphale made haste to reassure the demon. “Likewise. Certainly more than I’ve ever been. I only wanted to make sure.”

“Well, you’ve made sure. Why, though?”

“Do I need a reason to want you to be happy?”

“Ngk. But I think you did have a reason.”

“True.” Aziraphale seemed embarrassed. “I just worried… if we can’t agree on something to call it, what if that means we don’t want the same things? So. I thought we should check that we’re still — what is that lovely idiom? — on the same page.”

“Huh. Very bookish idiom. But yeah, pretty sure we’re on the same page. Unless you’ve changed your mind about anything?”

“I have not.”

“We have talked through all this before,” Crowley reminded the angel. “Hugging. Being together. All that. Just not the word.”

“Just not the word.”

“Might just not _be_ a word for it.”

Aziraphale contemplated that possibility. “You may be correct. Our relationship really does seem to be rather ineffable.”

“Hah!” Crowley was amused at first, then sobered. “Believe it or not, for once I may actually have to agree with you about ineffability, Aziraphale.” He barked another laugh. “Look at us idiots, arguing about what to call something when we’re both perfectly happy with what it is. Or what _we_ are.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call what we’ve been doing _arguing_ , dear boy…”

“Whatever. Uselessly worrying ourselves about putting labels on things that don’t need them. Very human habit, that.” Crowley snorted. “We really have gone native.”

“Ah. It _is_ rather humanlike, isn’t it?” Aziraphale hesitated. “I do enjoy many human habits. Reading, especially. And eating. But doesn’t this one strike you as a bit… silly? And difficult? And pointless, perhaps?”

Crowley looked dubious. “Supposedly it helps people communicate and make sure everyone in a relationship is… on the same page. And happy. Helps keep things from getting confused. Legal reasons, too, sometimes. But if—”

“—but if we’re already happy and on the same page, and labeling it just confuses us, and I hardly imagine the legal matters are particularly relevant to our case, why bother?” Aziraphale finished the thought.

Crowley made a show of thinking the question over. Then, decisively, he let himself flop onto Aziraphale’s lap. “Can’t come up with any reason. Probably shouldn’t bother, then.”

The angel nodded thoughtfully, running fingers through Crowley’s hair. They slid into a relaxed, relieved, reflective silence.

After a while, Aziraphale glanced down at the slit-eyed demon half-dozing on his lap. “But do you know, dear, I do believe I’ve figured it out after all. What to call our relationship, that is.”

“Oh? Have you?” Crowley sounded skeptical, but he was far too comfortable to open his eyes all the way, let alone sit up. “What are we?”

Aziraphale smiled. “We’re us.”

Crowley thought about that for several minutes. “Y’know what I think, angel?”

“What?”

“I think you’re right.”

“Good.”

“I like us.”

“I do too. Quite a lot.”

“Good.”

Crowley let his eyes fall the rest of the way shut. One hand still stroking the demon’s hair, Aziraphale used the other to summon a book, which he deposited on the most convenient surface available, that being Crowley’s chest.

They lapsed back into silence, enjoying being together and enjoying being them.

**Footnotes**

1 Not that Crowley would have had mercy on her of his own accord, of course — even a retired demon has _some_ standards to maintain, after all — but, well, he knew Aziraphale would have felt guilty about it for the rest of the day otherwise.[return to text]

2 From Aziraphale, because it was the ethical thing to do (and also because he’d really enjoyed his food); from Crowley, because money is the great corrupter (and also because Aziraphale had really enjoyed his food). Standards.[return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked this! As always, if you're inclined to comment, please do — I would love to hear your thoughts. :)


End file.
